International Ministry Disaster
by yourmirroroferised
Summary: Minerva is kidnapped, Albus is determined to find her. But where will his search lead him? Prequel to Another Ministry Disaster, but you need not have read the other to enjoy this one.
1. Chapter 1

A/N This is intended as a prequel to Another Ministry Disaster, detailing exactly how Minerva and Albus were married in the first place. The ship is ADMM, if you don't like the idea (or just heckle me with "But Dumbledore's gay!") disembark now.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Harry Potter characters or the universe. I receive no profit, and do not infringe on the profits of the copyright holder. Any work here is intended as a parody, and not in violation of copyright laws. Also realize that fan fiction for this fandom has been going on for years. My story is completely original, but probably shares plot elements with the tens of thousands of stories out there. No infringement was intended on my fellow writers' work.

_**July 1**__**st**__**, 1963**_

Albus Dumbledore was very rarely disturbed in the wee hours of the morning outside of the normal school year. Someone beating on the door to his personal quarters was an even greater rarity. But whatever missive this person came to deliver must have been incredibly urgent, because after five minutes of hoping it was just a dream, the knocking persisted. Albus had no choice but to rise, don his dressing gown and throw the door wide with no small amount of ire.

Filius Flitwick gazed at him with a combination of sorrow and grim fatalism.

"Albus, I'm sorry to disturb you like this. I thought it essential that you know right away." He seemed to be kneading his hands, nervously. The Headmaster began to lose patience with the man who disturbed his slumber.

"Know what?" He croaked, curtly.

"I was meeting Minerva in Skye where she's spending part of her holiday,"

"I'm aware of her plans, Filius. Please, continue to the urgent news." Dumbledore growled, folding his arms across his chest.

The diminutive wizard's eyes began to pool. He dropped his gaze to hide the tears, "She's been kidnapped."

Suddenly, two in the morning seemed like a perfectly reasonable time to be pulled from one's bed. "How long? When did you find out? Do they know who did this?" As he said these words, he was retreating back into his quarters to hurriedly change his clothing. He was clearly preparing to go to the scene of the crime.

"The Ministry is looking into it. Albion Rosemont, Alastor Moody, Edgar Bones, and Finn Marshwell are all investigating the cottage as we speak. They've got their best wizards working on this, Albus, I promise." But the Headmaster brushed past him to run down the stairway from his office, and Filius was forced to race after him.

"Start explaining," Dumbledore demanded.

"I was to meet her by her cottage in the south of Trotternish, and then we were going to visit Portree for dinner. I came by the house at six in the evening to find the cottage door swinging open, with not a light in the place. I checked the cottage for any traps, but carefully picked my way in through the broken furniture and glass."

"There had been a fight?" Albus' voice seemed to choke.

"Would Minerva be taken any other way?" Flitwick sighed grimly. "And then I found… Albus it's bad. There's no note, no witnesses, nothing, just a smashed up house…"

"Can you take me there, Filius?" Albus threw over his shoulder as they neared the gates.

"Of course!" Filius squeaked.

Ten minutes later, they were staring at the same scene the Charms professor had encountered the evening before. But by now, the place was well-lit and awash with Aurors. Albus was pulled aside by Alastor Moody.

"This is definitely a kidnapping case. We found a strange marking that might identify the kidnappers, I've never seen it's like before, though." He rattled off, pulling Albus deeper into the crime scene. "Judging by how dry the blood was, the kidnapping took place hours before Filius came here. But he received an owl from her this morning, leaving me to assume it was sometime around…"

"Blood?" Albus interrupted. His own face seemed deprived of that particular substance at the moment.

"Yes! There was a fight, and blood was spilled. Minerva was bloodied, but she took plenty out of her kidnappers as well." He seemed determinedly proud of that, until he noted the Headmaster's face, "Ah, but don't worry, Dumbledore, there was not near enough blood for any injuries to be serious. Well, not hers, at least. Oddly enough, they put one drop of her blood in the middle of the little symbol they left."

Albus now saw the blood Moody had described. There was quite a lot of it, all over Minerva's favorite rocking chair, covering her family Bible, and coating the shattered tea service he had given her this past Christmas. Moody led him back into Minerva's bedroom. Albus' stomach did an anguished turn. He had never entered Minerva McGonagall's bedroom. This was hardly the circumstance under which he had hoped to do so for the first time. Swallowing his discomfort, he stood next to Alastor to examine the symbol carved into the headboard.

It appeared to be a white cross in a circle, the center of the cross was smeared with blood. Albus had not seen any of its like before. Instantly, the gears in his head began churning again. Who could he contact? Who would possess a more thorough knowledge of Dark magical symbols? Albus noticed that Alastor was still explaining things to him:

"And this is the only sort of evidence we have about who might have taken her. None of the magical signatures we found turned anything up. And they didn't leave a note with demands. I would say we have to start here." He finished.

"I need a photograph of this symbol." Albus listed, formulating a plan in his mind, "I would also like a copy of the report on this scene."

"The picture will be here in the hour. Our lab is all ready making copies. The report I'll get you by the end of the day." Alastor was eyeing him, "What are you planning Dumbledore?"

This was the moment of weakness for Albus. He knew that he had very little rational cause to pursue Minerva himself. Alastor, Edgar, Albion, and Finn were some of the best the Auror department had to offer. Even more, Albus knew that this was not the time to explore his incredibly complicated feelings about the woman who was his Deputy. They would only get in the way in a circumstance such as this. Just as rapidly as he was falling apart, however, a cover-story was forming in the back of his mind.

"Not only do I suspect a deeper plot here, but, as my Deputy Headmistress, Minerva has vital information about the security and protective spells of Hogwarts." Albus set his face in a determined line. "It is my duty as Headmaster to make sure she is turned as quickly as possible."

"Fair enough." Alastor nodded, "But you should know I'll be coming with you every step of the way." Albus lifted a hand in protest, but Alastor shook his head and cut him off. "Don't try to sway me, Dumbledore. I'm here are the Ministry representative. More than that, Minerva and I were a few years apart at Hogwarts, she was kind of a hero to me. And Poppy loves that woman so much, I'm liable to be in the dog house if I turn this assignment down." He winked at Albus, until he realized how entirely inappropriate humor was to the moment. "Now, when do we leave?"

A/N: Reviews are always appreciated.


	2. Oh I wish

By the time Alastor had finished reporting on the scene of the kidnapping, Albus had scoured the comprehensive Hogwarts library for references to the encircled white cross with a drop of blood.

Albus had no need of a photograph to conduct his search. The image seemed permanently burned into his mind's eye. Just as Dumbledore was about to give up all hope of finding it in historical textbooks, he discovered something the American historian Grady McWhiney had written called "A Post-Civil War Magical History of the American South". It was one of the few books from the western hemisphere in the Hogwarts library. McWhiney noted that a group of muggle baiters had taken pitting muggles in the American south against each other. He noted that they rallied under a burning white cross. This was the only mention he could find of the group or their symbols. Again, Albus found himself ruing the lack of muggle historical texts present in the library.

It was at this point Alastor showed up at the Hogwarts gates. They convened in the Headmaster's office. Immediately he slapped down three copies of a photo bearing the accusatorily smeared symbol. Albus had to force himself to look away from the throbbing blood in the middle of the picture. His guilt was not going to help Minerva.

"Have you found anything else?" Albus croaked. His general lack of sleep and hours spend pouring over dusty tomes had begun to wear on his voice.

"I found nothing more than what was caught in the initial sweep." Alastor sighed, "Albus, I don't know if it makes you feel any better, but these wankers went to a lot of trouble to break into that cottage. Minerva had only the best and strongest protection spells placed around it. They must have put a lot of forethought into this; they had to have a plan. They would hardly have put that kind of work into getting in if they didn't have a specific purpose in mind."

"What are you saying, Alastor?" Dumbledore snapped, his patience was as thin as his voice, "Spit it out, man!"

"Well, my point is this: if they had meant to kill her…" He noticed Dumbledore flinch at the word, "Even with all her power, Minerva couldn't have stood up to an ambush of the four, possibly five wizards we believe to have attacked her cottage. They must need her alive for something, so we have at least some time to find her."

This proved small comfort for Albus Dumbledore. Still he shared the little progress he had made with his new-found ally and they both agreed on where they needed to go.

"So why do you _really_ need to know about dark symbols?" The barkeep tossed a suspicious glance their way between examinations of the photo. "Or do I not want to know, as usual?"

"I told you! Please try to understand the urgency of this matter," Albus was growing impatient in the empty Hog's Head. Not many of Aberforth's customers were inclined to come around before noon, so they found the bar pleasantly abandoned. He was pacing back and forth, using all of his concentration to contain his building ambient magic. Albus knew his brother enjoyed holding over him the few occasions when he knew things Albus did not. It would not aid their search to give him more reason to be smug.

"Ah, so you want me to help you two fools play the chivalrous knight." Aberforth coughed out a derisive chuckle. "I didn't think Miss McGonagall was the distressed damsel type. Isn't there a Ministry of Magic and a Department of Magical Law Enforcement just for these kinds of things?"

Albus noticed that Alastor was growing red in the face now, "See here, Abe, if you're implying that…"

"Please, just tell us if you've seen this symbol or not." Albus snapped, one of the glasses behind the counter began an alarming cycle of exploding and quickly reforming back to its original shape. The Headmaster mental withdrew from the conversation long enough to pull himself together.

"So you've never even seen it in the bar?" Alastor was growling impatiently. He looked about ready to hex the entire place to the ground.

"Well, thank you, Aberforth," Albus rushed, hurrying Moody from the bar. "I'll be by before the semester starts I should think. Lovely seeing you, as always."

"HA!" Was all the younger Dumbledore spat after them.

Finally, forced to take on a deeper level of intrigue for the sake of their quest, both men donned disillusionment charms and headed for Knockturn Alley. Borgin and Burkes was their first, and hopefully only, stop in this disreputable corner of the British wizarding world.

Alastor was disguised a greasy, skinny twenty-something wizard with stringy blond hair. Albus took on the disguise of a tall, necessarily intimidating middle-aged wizard covered with scars from his half-ear to his clenching and unclenching fist. Alastor scuttled in to start searching the back.

"And don't touch anything unless I tell ya to!" Albus growled in a much deeper force than was his custom. Alastor gave a high cackle from among the piles of dark objects. Albus turned back to the counter, leaned the foot or so down that was necessary for him to approach Borgin's face level. The man all ready looked sufficiently cowed. "You look like a helpful sort," Albus' altered grey eyes became menacing storm clouds, "Tell me if you've ever carried any crosses that set themselves on fire but never burned up." Borgin managed a look of sincere puzzlement.

"I… I've never heard of the like…Wait. Had friend who saw 'em in America once" the shop keeper's face turned from desperately pale to its typical oily sheen of confidence. "He was studying some kind of voodoo and ran across American wizards that was playing with crosses. They dressed in funny white cloaks." He looked Albus up and down, "You plannin' a jump across the pond or somethin'?"

"Never you mind where we want to go." Albus rumbled, "You got anything with this symbol on it?" He smacked the photograph down on the counter so swiftly that Borgin jumped back, emitting a rather compromising squeak.

"No need to get so shirty… I've never seen that symbol 'round here or any other place." He studied it. "Might be you'll find it in America?"

Minerva had not hurt this much in years.

When she was training to be an Auror, no one held back during duels. They regularly bombarded each other without mercy, leaving their opponents ornamented with bruises, cuts and ill-effects beyond counting. Even during the war, Minerva had avoided capture and ended every major battle in a Healer's tender care. There was nothing tender about her current situation. She appeared to be a windowless room, possibly a cell. The floor and two of the walls were made of brick. The other two walls, less than ten feet across from their counterparts, were made of magically reinforced wood. Even so, the basement was much warmer and more humid than she was accustomed to. A particular sort of moss was growing on the bricks. While she was no Herbologist, it seemed a very odd sort of moss, completely unfamiliar to her.

In a blinding flash of pain and recollection, Minerva sat up. She remembered returning to her cottage, she remembered opening the door. And then things got a bit fuzzy. She remembered an ambush had occurred. She had, of course, fought back. But there was something odd about her attackers. She had noticed it right away at the time. Instantly, she had known they were not, in fact, Death Eaters. But her mind was fighting against the pain her body was feeling and was not coming out the winner.

Then she heard voices outside her cell (as she now determined it to be). Without a doubt, Minerva recalled the odd thing about her attackers: their accents.


	3. I was

The sun was rising again in the Headmaster's office. Alastor had returned from consoling the distraught Madam Pomfrey. He resumed his previous pacing, occasionally muttering phrases that contained the words, "Dark Wizards" and "America".

Albus had sunk so deeply into his research, he caught none of this activity. The Headmaster's desk had transformed into a pile of books spilling from the top onto the floor. Albus gathered every book on the magical history of America he could find in a few hours. Book after Book proved fruitless. There were entire volumes on the Native Americans, Captains of Industry, Founding Fathers, and Cajun societies. But nothing seemed to feature the all-important white cross. Albus was on the last five books. The first one he picked up happened to be a muggle history of something known as "reconstruction". As soon as the book fell open, he froze.

"Alastor! Alastor, bring the photograph here!" Albus' arm was shaking as he pointed at the page. Alastor raced over and pulled the photo out of his pocket. He dropped his jaw and the photo at the same moment.

"The Ku Klux Klan?" Alastor whispered, "Who are they? What do they want with Minerva?" But Albus was once again deaf to his questions. Dumbledore was memorizing every work in the entry. Alastor picked up the next book in the stack and tried to flip through as well. But before he could get to the index, Albus was striding toward his quarters. Alastor dashed to keep up.

Bag in hand, Dumbledore was haphazardly stowing books, clothes, potions, and a few of the silver instruments in his office. "Do you have what you need?" Albus didn't stop to look at him.

"Have my wand, I don't need much else!" Alastor bubbled. Truth be told, he was very eager to get this investigation out of books and offices and into the field, where he was much more useful.

/*\/*\/*\

Alastor's head was still spinning twelve hours later.

He had never seen such rapid-fire diplomacy. Within two hours of leaving Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore secured a coveted cross-channel portkey. Millicent Bagnold was more than happy to grant a permit to the Headmaster of Hogwarts when she heard of his noble errand, but only after Dumbledore promised to extend the warmest hand of diplomacy and refrain from openly accusing America of kidnapping Minerva. The minister desperately wished to avoid an international investigation, and therefore was willing to grant Albus just about anything he needed to find his Deputy. He took the liberty of using Bagnold's connections to set up a brief meeting with the head of the Amerian Magical Bureau of Investigation the day after their arrival.

Thus provisioned, Albus and Alastor quickly charged to their portkey departure point. Alastor had used the hour before their departure, while Albus was scheduling meetings, to return to his flat and throw a few changes of clothes into a small valise. Once they landed at the portkey point inside the American Bureau of Magic, they were rushed straight into customs.

While Albus Dumbledore had the highest level of access and VIP status in the United Kingdom and most of Europe, across the pond, he was still only known as the Supreme Mugwump of the International Federation of Wizards and was known to be heavily involved with the British Ministry of Magic. They were pulled into a narrow but long room (nearly a hallway), stacked with files that seemed smashed together until each cabinet was a mere inch or two thin. A line of witches and wizards were seated or standing. They were, in this, given the celebrity status of being walked to the end of the line immediately. Their wands were inspected, papers were read over, and their two bags were prodded a bit as well. However, much to Alastor's intrigue, the cabinets actually proved to roll out into full sized cabinets, making the most of the tight space. The witch and wizard working with them gave them several different permits, and they were given instructions to go to the Magical Bureau of Investigations immediately.

"We have a meeting with Arthur Bridger, Head of the Bureau, tomorrow." Albus raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sure you do, Mr. Dumbledore," The witch had turned back to her stack of reports.

"Why are we required to go to the Bureau now?" Alastor demanded, his sleep-deprivation draining what little tact he had to begin with.

"We weren't given any information about what you'd be doing there. We were just told to send you there." The wizard was moving the filing cabinets around again. Clearly no answers would be had from this group of people. Both wizards gathered there effects and shuffled wearily over to the department.

As soon as they walked through the door, the cold, sterile professionalism was completely discombobulating. Whereas customs had seemed a small, stuffy and a bit bureaucratic, this branch of the American Magical government was sleek, modern, and highly intimidating. Alastor, the brightest and the best of the British Auror team, felt a bit under-par simply standing in the lobby.

"I'm Albus Dumbledore, and this is Alastor Moody." Albus began, approaching the desk. A grey-suited young witch peered up at him over sharp-cornered glasses. "We were instructed at customs to come to this Bureau. I have an appointment…"

"Tomorrow. Yes, sir. Your appointment still stands. However, Mr. Bridger feels that, given the circumstances, it would be prudent to give you a liaison." The receptionist picked up a strange, balled object and spoke into it, "Mr. Lyle to the lobby."

"I assure you, the courtesy is appreciated, but completely unnecessary. I have been to America countless times, and am quite familiar with the culture. As for navigating this particular piece of business, Alastor Moody is the quickest mind in the British Auror department. A liaison is not…" But just as he finished, a sharp, blonde wizard in his early twenties stepped through the ebony door to the left of the reception desk.

"Special Agent Lyle reporting as ordered." Alastor noted the formality in the boy's voice. Apprehension began to simmer in the back of his mind. "I am here to escort you to the accommodations we arranged for you, sirs. If you will please, follow me." He stepped away with a militaristic clip that brooked no arguments. Both men were forced to curtail all questioning and follow.

And so, after a hurried lunch and rapid tour of the city, they were taken to a special enclosed base about two hours outside the city. Alastor felt wards as they entered, but said nothing. He was sure Dumbledore was aware of them as well. They were protective, keeping muggles and unwanted intruders away. But these wards also made it rather difficult for those within their reach to leave apart from the prescribed way. The apprehension climbed to a rolling boil.

The men were escorted to a suite with two rooms. Both settled in, just as dinner was delivered. Special Agent Lyle was there, eating with the same precision he employed in everything else.

By the end of the night, Alastor was having problems forcing his eyes closed, despite having less than four hours of sleep in the past three days. He knew that something was not at all right, but knew that nothing could be done just yet. In the mean time, he stuck to his classic, constant vigilance.


	4. In the Land

The next morning, Albus and Alastor were both hurried through breakfast and rushed to their meeting back at the Magical Bureau of Investigation. Special Agent Lyle was their shepherd for the entire process. He ate breakfast with them, escorted them to the Apparition Point, and personally saw them to the offices of Director Bridger. He even stood just inside the door for the entirety of their meeting.

By that point, Albus was beginning to deeply wish that Alastor was more skilled at Legilimency. He could clearly the Americans' tactics, and was beginning to question the reason behind them. Why was it so necessary to keep Alastor and Albus from having any kind of private council? It felt as if blinders had been jammed onto their heads, keeping them from getting any kind of investigational foothold.

But while Albus was worried about their first 24 hours in America, he was not about to openly resist. They were on the MBI's territory; they would have to play by their rules. Most importantly, without Director's Bridger's blessing, it would be nearly impossible to stay in the country at all. They were about to expose their true purpose in coming across the ocean, they had to pray that it didn't meet resistance.

"Gentlemen!" Director Bridger finally took a seat behind his massive mahogany desk after the proper greetings had been exchanged. His leathery, somewhat wrinkled face held a sort of cocky nonchalance. This air of vague indifference was echoed by the caper his deep brown eyebrows cut under his impressively chiseled haircut when he asked, "What can I do for the great Albus Dumbledore and the ever impressive Alastory Moody?" He leaned back in his chair, casually toying with the ink pen American wizards had insistently embraced over the quill.

"Director Bridger…"

"Arthur's fine, Dumbledore." The director corrected smugly.

"Arthur, please call us Albus and Alastor," Dumbledore smiled at this supposed show of good faith, despite his inner seething impatience. "Now, Arthur, as you may know, my Deputy Headmistress was captured from her vacation home three days ago. There was no indication of who the perpetrators might be, or what their motivation was. We found only this symbol." Albus laid down another precious photograph of the blood-covered symbol on the bed.

Arthur leaned forward to pick up the picture. He took one look at it, and his wrinkles exploded into the most crackled laugh Albus had ever heard. It almost sounded as if someone was coughing over a static-filled muggle wireless. The Director wiped a non-existent tear from his eye after several seconds of outright laughter and squared up to face them.

"Gentlemen, I believe you have been had." He looked down at the picture and snapped off a soft chuckle.

"What d'ya mean, Bridger?" Alastor's temper made him far more vulnerable to the MBI's shamefully obvious provocation tactics. Now, more than ever, Albus wished there was some way to communicate privately with his ally. "We found that symbol carved into a witch's headboard, smeared with her own blood! You've got the nerve to tell me that this is some kind of sick joke? For the love of Prospero!" He nearly marched from the room. But Albus put a stilling hand on his wrist as he rose. And while a livid red color still warmed his cheeks, the Auror returned to his seat.

"I'm sorry if I seem a bit careless about this whole incident." Arthur consoled, talking as if to placate a child. "I simply find it pretty hard to believe that this matter has ended up in my lap. Shouldn't the Auror department and Magical Law Enforcement be taking care of a British witch's disappearance?"

_She's Scottish,_ Albus corrected silently. "They have been investigating. However, since she is the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, I took the initiative to investigate this symbol personally." There was no sign of an emotion on the now mirthless face of the Director, "It seems that this symbol was only used by an American band of wizards known as the Ku Klux Klan. They seem to be manipulating muggles to destroy each other and sow discord in their local governments. At least… according to the book I found." He looked to Arthur for a response.

"How old was this book, Albus?" Arthur's face had taken on a mockingly amused veneer again.

"Around thirty years old? I found the Magical history of America to be sadly lacking in documentation." Albus admitted, suddenly feeling very uncertain of his earlier conclusion. On a deeper level, he had began to suspect the tactics behind he and Alastor's constant separation.

"Yes, well, that book was clearly outdated." The director's look was one of pity as he continued, "Whoever kidnapped Margaret…"

"Minerva," Albus couldn't stop himself from correcting out loud this time, even if he knew that Bridger's supposed forgetfulness was another ploy.

"Minerva. Well, whoever kidnapped her was playing with your mind. They seem to know American history better than you do! They knew this would lead you to a dead end!" Bridger leaned back in his wing-back chair as if the matter was settled.

"Are you saying Dumbledore's research was wrong?" Alastor's face was still red as a tomato.

"I'm saying, Alastor, that the Ku Klux Klan was eradicated shortly after the turn of the 20th century." The Director was all business now. "Weren't you alive during that time, Dumbledore? It strikes me that you would have no need of history books if you had paid any heed to American news in your younger days. The MBI took out the KKK. Everybody knew about it, there was massive celebration. A white scourge was driven from our land. And yet, you had to resort to history books? I'm disappointed in you, Albus. I had been led to expect better." His posture showcased the disappointed father attitude.

"I… I see…" Albus stammered.

"Now look, Arthur. There's no need to insult Dumbledore. The man has been out of his mind with worry. When we showed up here, we hadn't gotten a mite of sleep in nearly three days. If we have erred, it's nothing to do with Albus Dumbledore's wits." The Auror's verbal attack was so potent, Dumbledore almost felt the need to use a Protego.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen," Bridger stood, indicating their conversation was over. "If there's anything else I can do for you during your stay, just let Special Agent Lyle know." He nodded to the agent, who opened the door and stepped up.

"If you gentlemen will follow me, I have been authorized to take you on a tour of the Smithsonian Institute." Albus was too in shock to resist. Alastor was flustered beyond words, so they were both led from the building, changed into muggle attire, and halfway around the grounds before Albus spoke.

"I remember the KKK now." Albus sighed, "I remember hearing about the MBI's victory while I was studying in France. It was widely celebrated as the first major victory for America's magical law enforcement." He seemed wrung out and tired now.

"Don't blame yourself, Albus," Alastor patted his shoulder, "Anybody could have forgotten that. It was decades ago! And we were stretched thin as it was."

They had been following Special Agent Lyle around the grounds without much question or comment. Normally, Albus would be fascinated at an inside look at the workings of an American research and museum facility. But all wind had been stolen from his sails for the moment. He was on a foreign continent without a single clue as to what happened to Minerva. What was worse, he had apparently wasted three days following a symbol that was meant as a diversion. His mind immediately began running worst case scenarios, and every single one of them ended up with Minerva dead.

Alastor must have been immersed in his own thoughts as well, because neither man noticed where they were being led until they suddenly stopped. Looking around, both men instantly determined that they were in a storage facility for artifacts. There was an entire warehouse of artifacts stretching for hundreds of meters in both directions. Lyle cast a quick Hominem Revelio and seemed satisfied with the results, because he pulled them closer and began to whisper:

"Director Bridger was lying." He opened. Instantly, both men leaned closer, "The MBI thought they destroyed the KKK, but pockets have been popping up all over the South constantly for the past two decades. We've been trying to keep it quiet, but they essentially rule everything south of the Mason-Dixon line."

"I knew it!" Alastor burst out, earning a shushing from both men.

"Bridger is sticking with Bureau policy and denying their existence. But if they've stretched out to the other side of the ocean, I think it's time to start taking notice. Now, the compound you were housed in is heavily guarded. We have to report back their tonight, to keep from arousing suspicion. But if you really want to find Minerva McGonagall, we can escape tonight and get back on track to finding her."

Albus Dumbledore had never heard a better plan in his life.

/*\/*\/*\

There seemed to be a wall whenever she tried to look back. It wasn't as if she couldn't recall anything before waking up that morning; but any attempt to vividly remember a previous event, and she encountered a blurry haze.

She hadn't even remembered her name until Freddy had told her. Annabelle had a pleasant ring to it, so it must have been her name. But her accent was still a bit odd. The only explanation she was offered for that was that she had been studying abroad and had picked up foreign ways. Without any kind of references point, she forced herself to accept the stories. Apparently, problems like this were common after accidents like hers. If only she could remember the accident as well.


	5. Of Cotton

Alastor had never been so completely lost in his entire life. For all his knowledge of the European map, and his familiarity with every nook and cranny of the British Isles, Alastor Moody knew precious little about the western hemisphere. Lyle had explained that they would go down to the site of the last know KKK uprising and begin tracking from there.

Apparently, a muggle city named Atlanta had experienced some racial tensions over the issue of desegregation. Lyle informed them that the governor decided that all schools must be completely integrated by May of 1961. This was causing quite a stir among the KKK.

"We've seen all kinds of pockets of KKK activity." Lyle, or "Jimmy" as he preferred to be called, looked a bit too enthusiastic at the prospect of field action. His eager inner spy had jumped at the chance to travel incognito. The three gentlemen had escaped the base under cover of darkness and a few well-placed enchantments. From there, Lyle had surprised them by showing off his muggle driving skills and piloted them to the nearest train station. From there, he simply vanished the car, and all three of them had dressed as clean-shaven muggle business men, assumed fake names, and hopped onto the next train headed to Atlanta. It was hard to tell who was more elated at their present situation, the boy who thrilled over playing spy, or the middle-aged wizard who drooled over the mechanics of muggle transport.

"Exactly what sort of 'activity' do you mean?" Alastor felt the now-familiar swelling of apprehension at the boy's excitement.

"Oh, mostly just rallies, but there have been reports of arson and rumors of lynching." The textbook-style Jimmy use to casually discuss murder turned Alastor's stomach just a bit.

"And you're saying the MBI has turned a blind eye to all of this?" Albus' voice held all the incredulity Alastor felt. "Has there been no outcry from the magical community? Has no one demanded action?"

"Oh, there are a few grass-roots groups of muggle-intervention advocates. But they are so far on the fringes of any real political movement, nobody really gives them much credence." Even in naming the movement, Jimmy seemed dismissive. "It's almost entirely young witches and wizards who voluntarily give up their magic in order to live among muggles of a similar age. I believe the vernacular for these bands of young muggles is 'hippies'. Because of their extreme actions: giving up their magic, living among muggles, excessive drug use and promiscuity, these groups aren't really granted any political gravity." He shook his head dismissively, "If you ask my opinion, they're completely off their rockers."

"Off their what?" Albus had a slightly bemused look on his face. Alastor could see a younger Dumbledore joining just such a group of young people. Alastor had heard rumors about a rather rebellious, devil-may-care red-headed young Albus. He could tell right away, Albus had a deeper interest in these groups.

"So are we going to try to join with one of these 'hippies' groups?" Alastor wanted to know exactly what the plan was, so he could be thinking five steps ahead of it.

"No," Jimmy's reply was incredibly emphatic. "No offense, but neither of you could pass for 19 and 20 year olds. And I want to use as little magic as possible on this mission. The less we use are wands, the harder it will be for the MBI to track us."

"So where are we going once we get to Atlanta?" Albus quickly turned from curious to barely containing his frustration with the cocky young agent.

"Straight to a KKK meeting."

/*\/*\/*\

As the train moved further south, and the train began to feel hotter and hotter, the tension in their private compartment had risen in parallel increments. Alastor had his wand at the ride for the rest of the twelve hour trip. By the time they arrived in Atlanta, the Auror was so tense he could barely move from his seat. Lyle and Dumbledore had (after casting an impenetrable _Muffliato_) exploded into heated debate about the proper methods for locating the KKK. Albus wanted nothing to do with the hated organization. Even with the overhanging imperative of freeing Minerva and possibly exposing the group, Albus still firmly resisted. It had been a vicious merry-go-round of one argument after another from both sides.

"I have a flawless investigation record at the MBI. Every single case I investigate, I finish, cleanly and in record time." Lyle boasted, "I know this terrain, and I know how we need to go in. With all due respect, you are way out of your league, Dumbledore."

"A wizard cannot partake in such Blood Rituals as the KKK invokes without permanently altering his magic!" Albus had roared.

"This is absolutely the only way!" Jimmy scoffed, "No one knows where and when the KKK meet, except the KKK!"

"And what if we are accessories to the murder of some pour soul? How will that look on your spotless record?"

On and on it spun, nearly coming to wands once or twice. Thankfully, by the time the train reached Atlanta that night, they were had blown out most of their steam, and were forced to curtail further scuffles in favor of stepping out to join muggle Atlanta.

As they hustled through the nearly deserted train terminal, Alastor determined that Jimmy was using investigative skills to determine a safe location where they could regroup.

"A greasy spoon," Jimmy muttered as his eyes lit on a battered looking establishment two blocks down the street. They lights were still on, but that did nothing to make the restaurant look more inviting, "Perfect." And he trudged down the block. Both men hurried to keep up with him.

Once in the restaurant, they each ordered and decided to find lodgings for the night. Toward the end of dinner, the exact nature of those lodgings came into question.

"I have contacts in the city that can help us." Lyle pried himself from the sticky chair. "If you 'll excuse me, I'll attempt to use the telephone to contact them."

Alastor chuckled to himself as the young man strode off. Clearly, he was very proud of how well he remembered his muggle covert ops training. Alastor did have to concede that the boy had a far better working knowledge of muggle society than his British counterparts. He tucked into what remained of his biscuit and listened to the tinny muggle radio the lone cook enjoyed. A young woman seemed to be soulfully apologizing through the song:

"_I'm sorry, so sorry__  
__That I was such a fool__  
__I didn't know__  
__Love could be so cruel__  
__Oh, oh, oh, oh__  
__Uh-oh__  
__Oh, yes"_

The song continued, and Alastor sighed, remembering Poppy tucked snugly back at Hogwarts. He would have given anything to be spending the night with her at that moment. But he knew that his return would not be an exceptionally welcome one, unless he brought tidings of a rescued, safe Minerva. Alastor pushed around the gravy on his plate, suddenly devoid of appetite. He was abruptly distracted by a sniffling noise to his right.

He turned to find Albus Dumbledore, the pride and joy of the wizarding world, hastily scrubbing tears from his cheeks.

"Albus?" Alastor suddenly decided to whisper, despite being the only other patron in the restaurant. "Are you all right?"

"I…" He hiccupped, "I'm fine." But the song struck up its chorus again, and more errant tears coursed down his face.

"Clearly, you are not!" He handed Albus a handkerchief. "What on earth is troubling you?"

"I'm failing her, Alastor." Albus whispered brokenly. "I promised myself I would see her back safely and I feel as if we are being pulled further and further off course. We have no idea where she is, exactly who has taken her, or for what purpose!"

"Albus, that's absurd! We have been on the trail for days now, and you can't tell me we haven't made progress! No one would expect any more from you!" Alastor suddenly started to sense an underlying problem, "In fact you've gone above and beyond the duties of a Headmaster in aide of his Deputy." He carefully dropped the implied question.

"It's not…" Albus took a deep breath in, "It's not just about saving my Deputy, or even rescuing my friend." He looked down into the grease-pool on his on plate, and a single tear slipped to jive with the oil. "I have known for quite some time that I have stronger feelings for Minerva. But I have never allowed myself to explore them. I thought that if I shoved them out of the way, they would never become an issue." He wiped his eyes.

"How is that theory working out for you?" Alastor had to curb his sarcasm and overlaid it with the most nurturing tone he could muster.

Albus closed his eyes, "Not…not very well."

"Well, buck up, boy-o." Alastor patted his shoulder. "You have the best Auror in Britain, and apparently, the MBI's most flawless investigator on your side. If anyone can find Minerva, we can!" Alastor desperately wished the conversation closed.

"Thank you, Alastor." Albus turned, and while he wasn't quite smiling, the crying had stopped. For Alastor, that was enough.


	6. Old Times

The great wizard had seen many appalling things in his time. He had survived two world wars, more than one duel with a dark wizard, and endless ministry administrations. But he had never once felt quite so deeply disgusted with humanity, both wizard and muggle, at that very moment. Judging by the Alastor Moody was muttering, he felt the same way.

Lyle was pacing their shared, dingy hotel room. For two hours after their first visit to a KuKluxKlan meeting, Jimmy had feverishly jotted down notes on a square pile of spiral-bound paper he called a "notebook". Alastor had started cursing under his breath as soon as they left the basement of First Baptist Church where the Klan convened. He was equally engrossed in his parchment. Albus, however, was completely paralyzed, staring blankly at the terrible painting slung on the wall.

There were no words to describe the despair he felt from the words said in that meeting. Wizard-kind had always shuffled muggles to a special slot in their minds, somewhere above dumb animals, but well below elves, centaurs, and werewolves. As the brilliant wizard he was, people respected Dumbledore when he spoke out in defense of muggles, but did little to change their views. Now, after this most harrowing experience, Albus felt his admiration for muggles wavering in ways it had not since the reign of Grindelwald and his muggle puppets.

The meeting they had just witnessed was filled with so much hatred, Albus had vomited from it. The men in the meeting discussed their superiority, the inferiority of many communities in their city, and ways to bring about the humiliation and subjugation of those neighborhoods. And these people were thorough in their prejudice. They knew every single activity of Jews, African Americans, or any other people of color that even remotely entrenched on what they marked as their territory. Just thinking about it made Dumbledore nauseous once again. He had been to several anti-muggle rallies throughout his life, trying to follow dark wizards, or to simply disband those sorts of activities. The same level of hatred flourished within that group. There was the same smug superiority over another group for perfectly arbitrary reasons, the same carefully planned dialogue marking the other group as transgressive, and finally, radical actions planned to destroy the hated group.

Shaken from his dark spiral, Albus suddenly realized he desperately needed fresh air to counteract his thoughts and the odor of mildew in their hotel room.

"Jimmy, I'm going for a walk." He announced, putting on his muggle hat, and striding toward the door.

Jimmy turned around, mid-pace, "What? Why would you do that? It's dangerous out there!"

"I need fresh air." Albus returned, opening the door.

"What if you get lost? What if someone picks a fight with you?" Jimmy was moving to stop Dumbledore now.

"I can take care of myself." Albus returned, and with that, he shut the door and was down the stairs.

Out on the street, it was incredibly muggy. Albus hadn't felt humidity like this in years. But he simply rolled up his shirt sleeves, and continued his walk. If he walked fast enough, maybe he could outpace some of the terrifying thoughts nagging at the back of his mind. He pushed down one street and up another, past a pawn shop, a barber, a liquor store, and finally he wasn't paying attention anymore. Suddenly, a car, clipped in front of him. But just as he thought he was going to be struck, a hand jerked him back by the belt.

Albus whipped around, desperately resisting the urge to pull out his wand, when he came face-to-face with Jimmy.

"What?" The lad quipped, sharply, "Did you think I'd let you wander the city alone? I'm still not sure I can trust you yet, Dumbledore. I'm not about to let you out of my sight." Albus couldn't tell if that last part was a joke or not, but he decided to let it pass, considering the man had just saved his life.

"So you followed me?" the older wizard growled.

"Wasn't hard." Lyle nearly grinned at his own sleuthing. "You weren't exactly paying attention to your surroundings." He inclined his head after the car now speeding away.

"I have quite a bit on my mind." Was the only reply.

"I see." Jimmy started to walk again, and Albus decided to follow him, "So tell me something, Al." Albus winced at the muggle name agreed he would adopt. "How is it a guy like you, who's seen two wars, and fought some of the craziest nuts out there, can get his stomach turned by a meeting like that?"

"Hatred is never a pleasant thing to expose ones' self to." Albus sighed, wearily. "And it is because I have dealt with the consequences before that I know exactly how deadly gatherings like that can be."

"Yea, but that's not it. I know it upset you. It upset me, too." Jimmy returned, "But I'm a professional, so is Alastor, and you are as well. We decided we would do this to bring down the KKK, save an internationally renowned witch, and bring justice to the poor people in these towns. For some reason, the whole time I've had the feeling you had another motive. Now, I don't like going into a situation without knowing as many variables as I can get my hands on. If there's something you're not telling me, I'd love to know about it before it comes to guns blazing." Albus looked at him, somewhat puzzled, "It's a muggle expression. Now, are you going to open up to me, or do I have to bring out my dusty old Legilimency training?"

For a brief second, Albus contemplated denial. He felt so weak for sharing his feelings with Alastor last night. And he knew that his personal feelings would only endanger an operation as delicate as this one, but if he trusted Jimmy to get them to Atlanta and into a KKK meeting, he could trust him with one piece of key knowledge.

"I love her." He blurted out with almost no forethought. "I love Minerva, and I have never told her. And the fact that she is gone, in great danger, or possibly… dead…" He took a steadying breath, "I don't know what to do with myself. Every single experience I have had before this has not prepared me for this kind of agony or misery. I could have the world's library of knowledge right now, but I am so terrified for Minerva I can't even begin to use it." A few tears slipped down his beardless face and onto his shirt collar.

Jimmy handed him a handkerchief as he whistled softly. "Well, that certain makes things more interesting."

"I wish I could completely shut this to the back of mind, but thus far, I have been completely unsuccessful. " Albus lamented, drying his tears.

"Well, lover boy, no need to worry," He pulled open a door, and Albus was shocked to see that they were back at the hotel. "I have a plan. I overheard some key information about some kind of top-secret operation while we were at that meeting. I think I know where we need to go next."

/*\/*\/*\

Annabelle was flying through her training. She joked with the men that it must have been some hell of an accident to get past her reflexes, because none of them could. She excelled at every exercise they threw her way. And she was finally permitted to leave the farm and go into town with them. It didn't seem very familiar to her, but that was probably just because they came at night.

Her brother, Wilkes, told her that she had always loved coming to meetings when she was younger. As a young lady, it was never proper for her to take part in the discussion, but she always loved to hear the speeches the men made. Landon, her cousin, had even read some of the greatest speeches from the leaders of their movement. Annabelle wasn't sure she liked what she heard too much, but she must have had a reason for loving the group so much before her accident. It was foolish to suddenly abandon them and turn away from the teachings of her family just because she wasn't quite right in the head.

And she was getting better as well. She always answered to Annabelle now, and her dreams didn't have a tall, red-headed man in a purple nightgown anymore. Sometimes, if Annabelle tried very hard, she could even remember things about the accident. There were lots of flashes of light, and occasionally, she could remember people screaming funny words. Her family wouldn't tell her about the accident, not even her father, Elias. He cried whenever she mentioned it. But apparently, the doctor had told them that Annabelle must remember everything on her own. So she gladly listened to the lectures they gave her, and practiced the training exercises. She would do anything to get her memory back and make poor, grey-haired Elias smile.

No amount of practice or speeches could have prepared her for what was said during the meeting that night.


	7. Were Not Forgotten

It would have been far more convenient to simply apparate from one point to the next, given that Philedelphia Mississippi was such a small town, mass transit could only get them within 100 miles of the place. But Lyle was committed to maintaining cover. If the MBI caught even the slightest whiff of where they were, James Lyle, Special Agent, would be parted with his badge faster than he could blink.

The three wizards in disguise purchased train tickets to Jackson and several hours later, were stepping down from the train into the capitol of Mississippi. While not nearly as sprawling as London or the District of Columbia, Jackson still spread out for a considerable distance. The main street seemed respectable, with shops, the latest muggle cars, and endless streams of pedestrians. It was only once the men started walking around that they noticed the racial tension that hung in the air thicker than the humidity.

While Jimmy was American, he was born and raised in Boston. There were a few minorities present, but no serious fuss was made about their presence in most of the places he frequented. When he noted his first "Whites Only" sign painted at the bottom corner of a Woolworth building and did a double take. The wizards behind him were equally shocked, because Alastor let out a disapproving grunt, and Albus could be heard sighing. Clearly this kind of brutish behavior did not quite make it to the wizarding community across the pond.

"I had no idea it would be like this." Albus muttered. "In Britain, no one ever… I mean, we never talk about… I've never seen anything quite like this." At that moment, despite the glamour transforming him into a 50 year old muggle, the poor Headmaster looked about ninety years old.

Lyle couldn't think of anything to say in response, so he clenched his jaw and pushed through the door into the department store.

The rest of the afternoon was spend gathering camping supplies. Alastor and Jimmy were both in agreement: spells could be used to protect and defend themselves, but for the rest, they were on their own. Thus, a muggle tent large enough for three men was purchased, along with sleeping bags, and several days' worth of canned food. They even purchased a small amount of fishing gear to allay suspicion as to why three grown men in business suits would be camping alone. By one, they had their bellies full, their new rucksacks filled, and were ready to start off toward their destination.

Jimmy was finally starting to feel alive. Finally, he was doing something that didn't involve cleaning up a magical accident or filing a report about that accident. For the first time in his (admittedly brief) career as an agent, he was literally getting ready to enter the field of potential battle. There was no need for pens or copies of Form 10a-part 5, it was down to his wand, his wits, and his well-honed reflexes. At this moment, Special Agent James Lyle knew he could single-handedly uproot the entire KuKluxKlan, and that was just the beginning. All the stirring stories of men bringing order to a lawless land were starting to feel a reality to him. As he buttoned up his new plaid camping shirt, and laced up his leather hiking boots, he knew he was finally suiting up for the adventure of his dreams.

A complaining, but well-paid, cab driver was hired to take them out to the town of Forest in the Bienville National Forest. From there, it was a mere 20 miles to the border of Neshoba County. There were still about six hours of daylight left. If they made good time, they could make it to the border, just before dark, set up their gear and spend the night.

By about four in the afternoon, they could see towering clouds rolling in from the direction they were walking. The men picked up their pace, desperately hoping to reach a suitable camping ground before the storm hit.

/*\/*\/*\

Annabelle was in a fabulous mood. Even the thunderous downpour outside wouldn't dampen her spirits. The meeting last night had gone wonderfully. At last, she had a way of proving her loyalty and gratefulness to her family. These men had paid for her to study abroad, and had clearly sacrificed so much to send her there. They had helped her heal after the accident, and now, at least, she was ready to be a contributing member of the family again.

The meeting was so invigorating. She wasn't allowed to address the room as a whole, Wilkes said she would be laughed out of the room with her silly way of talking. But still, just sitting in the back of the room, when everyone was so clearly focused and driven gave her goose bumps. Even now, the memory gave her chills. The men in the meeting were angry; there was no doubt about that. Yet, they seemed to have a solution, and Annabelle was more than delighted to be part of that solution. She would do anything to help these people who loved her so very much.

And to make matters even more promising, for the first time, she hadn't been lying to the doctor when she told him she didn't dream about a big, haunted castle with an old man in a purple bathrobe. She was finally starting to feel normal. And at the meeting last night, Papa had stopped crying, his grim frown possibly even turning to an approving smile.

True, Annabelle had no idea what they were going to ask of her. She had been training very martial skills, which made her the slightest bit edgy. No matter how addled the accident had made her mind, she still remembered what Papa had said about "thou shalt not kill", or, even if she didn't remember it from her childhood, she at least remembered it popping up in a fight between Papa and Landon the other day. But everyone at the meeting was so very upset with someone named Kennedy. Apparently, he was running for president of something.

/*\/*\/*\

The storm was upon them, but none of the men broached a single complaint. Each knew the importance of this mission and exactly what would happen should they be caught by either the Magical Bureau of Investigation or the Ku Klux Klan. They decided that huddling under their poorly-assembled tent, trying valiantly to keep their belongings from being completely drenched through. A simply charm would have solved all their problems, but Jimmy knew that there were few magic users in this part of the world. Even the smallest spell would instantly put them on the radar for the MBI. They had dropped their disguising charms for that reason, and were traveling in muggle clothing, with their un-altered appearances. Alastor looked almost the same, with a bit less hair, Jimmy looked no different at all, but Albus had a soggy beard dripping onto his plaid shirt. All three men were clearly miserable, but there was nothing else to be done for it.

As Alastor volunteered for the first watch, each man retired to their own thoughts. Lyle's blood still thrummed with promised adventure. His adrenaline level was just now reaching the point where sleep was a possibility. Alastor glared out into the mush of trees, brush and rain, and wished, now, more than ever, that Poppy was safe back at Hogwarts, and that he was there with her. Albus wondered if they were going at all in the right direction, what their next step would be, and for a few dark moments, he even questioned if Minerva would be alive and waiting by the time they found her.


	8. Look Away!

The group had already concluded that Polyjuice potion was the only way into the closed meeting. Albus was exceptionally grateful Agent Lyle had the forethought to bring some with him from the MBI headquarters. After two nights spent watching the small town, they were finally able to observe a meeting.

Lyle had mapped out the town, and he and Alastor selected the most strategic surveillance points for the three wizards.

Tonight was the one night they had agreed they would permit themselves unrestricted use of magic. And each man had skills that worked to his great advantage. Both Alastor and Albus had invisibility at their command, Albus through his exceptional skill and Alastor through a well-charmed cloak. It was decided that Albus was too volatile, given his emotional attachment to Minerva, to be allowed in the room on his own. Thus, Alastor slipped in to the meeting unnoticed, while Albus observed from one of the windows. Lyle's specialty was surveillance charms, designed to record what was said during the meeting by every person in the room. After setting up his eight points for picking up sound, he retreated to the small grouping of trucks and cars the Klan members left outside. Quietly, he slipped among the vehicles and placed tracing charms on them. In agent training, his tracing charms had a 100 mile radius and lasted for two weeks. With a smug self-confidence, he slipped back to the meeting house.

Inside, Alastor was focusing solely on determining which three men would make the best targets for their polyjuice plan. The wooden church was rather crowded. About fifty men filled the six rows of pews, with the occasional man standing on the side aisle. But Alastor was able to gather three hair samples, which he neatly stored in three separate pouches inside his jacket. He was just stowing the last sample, when everyone in the room murmured, and began craning their necks to see what was behind them.

Alastor turned to see Minerva being ushered in from the tiny coat room. She looked so very different from the stiff, stern, stoic woman he knew. Her hair flowed down to her waist, and instead of her family's somber tartan, she sported a blue dress with tiny white dots. Gone was the pale woman so accustomed days and nights locked in libraries: Minerva now sported a slight sunburn on her cheeks and forehead. This was not at all what he had expected. When he saw the scene of Minerva's kidnapping, he expected to find her bloodied, beaten, possibly dead. Here, he saw a glowing, energetic woman who seemed to dance and snap with the magical power Minerva normally boxed so tightly. And just as soon as he processed all this information, he knew they would have a problem on their hands if he did not act quickly. For, while they had planned their surveillance of this meeting so very carefully, they had not planned on one thing: how Albus would react if he finally got to see Minerva.

As soon as Albus laid eyes on her, everything about him froze, including his magical abilities. He was no longer invisible. Instead, for the briefest moment, his bugged eyes could be seen through the simply glass of the church window. But he was there for less than a second before Alastor landed on top of him. Still wheezing, Albus gawped at the Irishman sitting astride his chest.

"I know you've had flings with men before, Albus." He whispered, flattening close to avoid any gazes cast out the window, "But I forgot to ask if you prefer the bottom or the top." After a few minutes silence with no commotion proceeding from the church, Alastor rolled off. Dumbledore promptly rolled to his side, away from his rescuer.

"What have they done to her?" Moody heard him whisper.

"Ha, not much, if you ask me." He quipped. "I was expecting her to look loads worse than a sunburn and a hideous dress."

"Did you see her eyes?" Albus moaned, and Alastor suspected that, had he cared to look, he would find tears on the Headmaster's face. "They have tampered with her memory. The Minerva I know would never willingly walk into such a meeting, and surely not as cheerfully as that woman did just now. Either that woman was using polyjuice potion, or Minerva's mind has been severely altered." He had regained control of his magic by this point. He assumed invisibility and stood beside the window once again.

"I hadn't noticed that." In truth, Alastor's preoccupation with her physical well-being had prevented him from using the standard check-list for examining kidnapping victims. He was so stunned by her healthful glow, he had little time to plan anything else. His split-second apparition took all his remaining focus. At this point, he was still feeling incredibly lucky that the KKK hadn't thought to put any anti-apparation wards up around their meeting place. But it wouldn't do to tell Dumbledore that. The man had to be just barely keeping it together. Alastor could have sworn he saw a solitary tear suddenly plummet through mid-air.

Thankfully, by that point, Jimmy was headed back from his brief excursion. He was alarmed when he saw Alastor sitting on the ground, and no Albus. A swift explanation told Lyle all he needed to know. He said nothing to Albus. But all three men knew it was far too dangerous to attempt to get Alastor back into the church. Thankfully, after a brief check of the recording parchments, Jimmy confirmed that they had a record of everything being said in the meeting. And since Alastor had achieved his main objective of collecting samples for the Polyjuice potion before he was interrupted, there was little else to do but wait.

After the meeting was over, all three men were to meet behind a particularly large tree about three hundred feet from the church. Alastor kept watch over the meeting's exit, making sure the area was secure and that everyone left without a hitch. Lyle went to round up his parchments. Both men wrapped up their tasks successfully and were standing by the tree, waiting anxiously. Neither one had actually seen Albus since he resumed invisibility. Just as Alastor was beginning to fear that Albus had gone rogue and was even now pursuing Minerva's captors, a breathless Dumbledore revealed himself.

"Where on earth have you been?" Alastor immediately bombarded him. He was not used to going on missions with witches and wizards who didn't respect rank and had little interest in sticking to orders.

"You didn't do anything rash, did you, Dumbledore?" Lyle glared at him suspiciously as well.

"I've put an extra tracking charm on the vehicle Minerva got into!" He seemed very proud of himself. "Let's go! I want to catch up to them as soon as possible!"

"There were a lot of men there! We have no idea what kind of situation we'd be walking in to." Lyle reprimanded shamelessly. "Minerva is clearly in perfectly good health. There is no dire urgency in this rescue. It is not worth endangering lives needlessly." Albus' color started to rise. Alastor was sure the whole evening would have ended in a duel, if they hadn't heard a choir of "pop's" coming from the area surrounding the church.

Before the men had a chance to turn around and survey the new arrivals, they heard a magically magnified voice, "This is the Magical Bureau of Investigations. Drop your wands on the ground and come out with your hands up!"

/*\/*\/*\

Now the panic was starting to rise. Annabelle knew that there was something strange about the way papa Elias cried all the time. Why was she the only woman who had been allowed to do anything but cook, clean, and tend to the children? All these questions roared over her brain to try to drown the one, paralyzing piece of information.

They expected Annabelle to kill him.

At first, she was excited to train with her brothers and cousins. She clearly had been a good fighter before her accident, and casting the spells and using her wand had all felt so wonderfully right. And even though she was only allowed the use of her wand during practice, she had secretly discovered that she could do certain things without it. She could open locks, change tiny objects into other tiny objects. And her tricks were moderately handy to amuse the children. But these things were just practice, they were just for fun. She was never, ever, under any circumstances going to kill someone!

But now, she was stuffed in the back of the car between Landon and Wilkes. She knew her family loved her, but she was also scared about what would happen if she said no to them. When Papa Elias and Wilkes had fought about violence, the old man always came away with a black eye or a tooth missing. When cousin Clara, Landon's wife, talked back to him, he slapped her hard.

Annabelle was suddenly starting to think that opening locks wasn't such a useless little trick after all. She had to get away. She had to leave her family. She could never kill Kennedy, but if she refused, she suspected things would not go well for her.


	9. Look Away pt 2

The pain was as steady a throbbing as his feet pounding the earth. But barely-staunched wound on his thigh was a mere basso continuo compared to Albus' focus on his current mission. He had to reach Minerva. In this moment, he didn't care about the havoc the Ku Klux Klan was bringing down upon American civilization. He didn't care that the Magical Bureau of Investigations were still pursuing him somewhere in the forest behind. Albus Dumbledore didn't even give a flying Merlin about whatever insidious plot the KKK had cooked up when they planned to kidnap the woman he loved. He just wanted to see Minerva to safety.

After a week of careful planning, delicately executed travel plans and preparations, everything had been blown to bits in one moment. The MBI had to have tracked Alastor's apparation; that was the only bit of magic that contained any kind of location-specific traceability. Over and over again, Albus cursed himself for losing his focus in that one moment, when Minerva came into view. But now there was nothing to be done for it. Albus had nothing but his wand, the tracing charm he placed on the kidnapper's truck, and a fiery anger. In his adrenaline-packed brain the only solution was to run as fast his bleeding legs could carry him towards Minerva.

In defense of Jimmy and Alastor, the three men had held their position behind that tree for as long as they could. Of the twenty-five agents sent to contain the situation, Jimmy had taken down at least four, Alastor at least seven, and Albus laid low five fighters. Just after they had fired their last spell, Alastor grabbed him by the shoulder and leaned down to yell in his ear. During this second-long pause, Albus noted that Jimmy was bleeding heavily from a slash across his torso, and Alastor had a gouge out of his right cheek.

"Run." Alastor yelled at him, over the sound of spells flying past, trees falling, catching fire, and debris flying. "Follow the tracing charm you set, and go get her." When Albus opened his mouth to protest, Alastor smacked him, "These MBI softies can't kill me, and they won't want to kill Lyle. We'll be fine. Just get out of here!"

And before his brain had time to calculate the odds of two injured wizards being able to take on nine more trained fighters, before he pieced out what he would do when he found the kidnappers, Albus started to run. And now, somehow, he couldn't stop. Apparation was out of the question, as he had no idea where he was supposed to end up. There were no cars, horses, or even a broom around. So his only available method of travel was his own feet. He ran with every ounce of energy his body had left to muster. He didn't even stop to heal his thigh, but performed an ill-advised healing spell on the run. Somehow, he would make it to Minerva, and by that time, he would have a plan.

/*\/*\/*\

Alastor Moody was not a happy wizard at this point. He loved a good duel, and was never one to back away from a fight. But when the local wizarding legal authority decides to attack a party of wizards merely trying to returning a kidnapping victim to her homeland, he felt a special type of ire. Thanks to his training, he happened to be very skilled at channeling that ire into his spells.

Still, regardless of their orders, these witches and wizards were just trained agents doing their job. He was careful to not permanently incapacitate them. Each spell was calculated to disarm and keep the fighters trapped until things had calmed down a bit. Not a single fighter had died from the MBI, yet it seemed to him that some of the curses shooting past their shielding tree were far from benign.

As Alastor and Lyle ran through the smoke to take cover from the fire started by one of the spells, Alastor began to strategize again. Albus had very little chance of making it to that farm. Unless it was within a few miles, a wizard of Albus' age would never be able to run that distance, especially with that nasty cut on his leg. When he reached his destination, Dumbledore would be too exhausted to fight in top form. While the boys that were with Minerva didn't seem especially trained or skilled, they seemed to have swayed Minerva to their side, and she was a powerful caster. The only hope for keeping Albus and Minerva alive seemed to be a diplomatic solution. If they could convince the MBI to join them, clean out the KKK in this area, and bring Minerva home safely, no one would have to get hurt. Maybe it was a mistake to send Albus away after all. Moody's skills were far outside the realm of diplomatic negotiations, especially in a hostile situation.

They had reached a creek by this point, and the bank dropped off into a small cliff. Alastor noted that the opposite side had crevices and caves carved into the stone on the river bank. Taking a chance, Alastor leapt off the cliff, dragging Lyle with him as a jumped. It was only a two meter jump, and the two men were both thinking the same thing, it appeared. Both dashed for a larger crevice directly in front of them and pressed their backs to the space. Gathering their breath, Alastor conveyed his idea.

"Is there any way we could get these lads to bugger off or help us?" Alastor rasped. "Is there some kind of MBI signal you could use to tell them to stand down?"

"I've been trying!" Lyle gasped back, "I've sent the signal out there with every spell I sent. But they may be under orders to ignore it. I don't know what to do."

"Well, then we just get them to the point where they are ready to listen." Alastor sighed, knowing that might not happen until the last man was unconscious.

/*\/*\/*\

It only took about fifteen minutes to drive from the meeting house to the farm. During that entire time, Annabelle was rehashing her situation. She had to leave, that much was clear. To prevent suspicion, she kept a smile shining from her face the entire car ride. When the ride was over, she was taken straight to the house and locked the third-floor attic. This room was where she had been moved after she started training.

It was a nice enough room. There was a small rug in the middle, and, while a few old house-hold implements haunted the corners, there was room for a bed, a chest for the three dresses she owned, and a tiny stand that held the Bible, an old Klan manual, and a small hymnal. They even supplied her with a gabled window. The window was sealed with a very strong charm that seemed familiar, but without her wand, she was powerless against it.

Since she was getting home much later than her usual bed-time it was already dark. She also knew the men would be drinking heavily to celebrate tonight. Both of these things convinced her that this was her only shot at escape. She could get the lock on the attic door. That was how she had first discovered her ability to use magic without her wand. But Annabelle knew she hadn't a fighting chance without her wand. It was kept in a strong-lock box in the barn. She would have to sneak through the creaky old house, across the wide-open yard filled with barking curs, and into the barn without getting caught. Once there, she wasn't entirely sure she could handle the lock without her wand, but she had to try. Annabelle was not a killer, no matter how little she knew about her past, she knew that much about her present self.

With no other option presenting itself, Annabelle took in a deep, steadying breath, and moved toward the door. Just as she learned in training, Annabelle focused every ounce of energy on the door and the mechanism of the lock. Pausing momentarily to control the bile rising at the back of her throat, she swept all fear into a corner, where she could think about it later. Now was the time for actions. Consequences would be thought about and dealt with later.

/*\/*\/*\

Lyle knew that he was fighting mostly young agents, only slightly less experienced than himself. The experienced agents were off dealing with the Muggle Cold War. A small problem like this could be handled typically be handled by an ordinary cleaning crew of whoever happened to be in the office at the time.

But Alastor Moody was far from typical. With the Auror at Lyle's back, he believed himself invincible. They should have easily taken out a few agents and convinced the rest to parley.

No such luck. Every other spell Lyle sent out had been a MBI-coded request for parley. Any agent that saw it was supposed to know that the caster was an undercover agent for the MBI, hold their fire, and seek terms. Of the twenty or so times he had cast it, it had received no response. This could only mean that they were under strict orders to ignore that signal. Had MBI put out a burn notice on him? Would they even stop to talk now? Surely, one little foray into tracking down the KKK wasn't enough to make the MBI think he had gone completely rogue. They couldn't do this to him with so little provocation!

Fury began to mount in his throbbing chest. Jimmy suspected that, combined with the deep cut on his chest, an agent had cast a constricting charm, because it was becoming damned hard to breathe. In the brief moments while they waited for their attackers to join them on the river bank, Lyle searched for a counter-curse. He gave up just as the first wave jumped squarely in front of them. They were easily taken out; however, the next pair fired at them from above. Pressed against the stone and mud bank, their spells were completely useless.

There was a brief pause, during which, Jimmy sent numerous requests for parley, encoded and unencoded. Alastor had started to simply shout up asking for a chance to talk, going so far as to shoot off white sparks, the universal surrender symbol in the wizarding world.

However, all thoughts of talk were pushed from Jimmy's mind as, just after firing one last encoded plea, the ceiling caved in, and he could think no more.


	10. Look Away pt 3

Alastor Moody had not quite lost all faith in the American Magical Bureau of Investigation. After they denied the existence of a clearly present and active threat, virtually imprisoned men seeking to merely return a kidnapped international academic icon, and denied them legal recourse for further investigation, they had attacked one of their own. However, through a mad scramble, Alastor managed to free Lyle from the debris of the fallen riverbank, and end the constricting charm choking while the agents slowly closed in. Moody and Lyle surrendered their wands; that was when Special Agent James Lyle stuck his neck out.

"Request permission to speak, Agent Reaks." Lyle croaked, still coughing as he attempted to regulate his breathing.

The burly, dark-haired agent in charge glared at him for a moment, "All right, Lyle. But only because you've put on one hell of a fight."

Alastor noted the relief on Jimmy's face.

"We were here tracking a militant branch of the Ku Klux Klan." A few of the agents snickered. However, Agent Reaks' frown deepened. Alastor could tell Lyle had hit a nerve. This towering, more experienced agent knew about the KKK cover-up. From Alastor's training reading body language, he could tell that this man was growing more and more conflicted about his orders. Jimmy was opening up a foothold.

"You were chasing after a bunch of bed-sheet wearing ghosts?" Another agent mocked.

"Quiet!" Reaks growled. He craned his bull-like neck to cast his glare on the insubordinate agents. Silence fell like a downpour. Even the creek seemed to flow less noisily. "What the hell are you talking about, Lyle?" This man was giving Jimmy one, and only one chance to explain himself.

"Albus Dumbledore, and British Auror and I were tracking a kidnapping case…" Lyle began.

"The McGonagall case? I heard that was sent to the continent." Reaks was starting to lose patience. But Lyle would not be bullied, and maintained a remarkable cool as he proceeded.

"It was, but only after Bridger denied the entire existence of the KKK and banned Dumbledore and the Auror from searching further."

Reaks grunted in moderate interest. Alastor could tell he knew about certain KKK activities that were officially non-existent.

"We infiltrated a meeting in Atlanta, and worked outward from there." Lyle was on a roll, "Every meeting we heard was stirred up about JFK. They hated him, or they wanted him dead. But finally, we made it out here. Just before you got here, we observed another meeting. We put traces on the vehicles, recorded what was said in the meeting, and we have a positive ID on the kidnapping victim."

Whispers were starting to bubble up among the agents surrounding them. Reaks' eyebrows were so deeply furrowed, Alastor was not entirely sure the man would be able to straighten them again, "And?"

"They want McGonagall to kill Kennedy, sir." A stunned silence reined once again. "The plans are already laid, McGonagall has been trained, potentially had her memory altered. She's going to assassinate Kennedy."

/*\/*\/*\

Before he even reached the farm, Albus heard the screams that nearly made him wretch. Beyond a doubt, it was Minerva, and she was unquestionably in pain. Thankfully, he had stopped the major blood-loss from the cut on his leg. Though moderately winded from his run, he was still able to reach the scene, and take a brief moment to assess.

An aberrantly cheery, blue three-level farm house with a veranda stood about thirty feet from a large, dilapidated red barn. The door to the house was open, and in the darkness, Albus could see the white outlines of half a dozen faces pressed up against the window panes, staring in shock and horror at the scene outside.

Six men were fighting in the opening space between the house and barn. A seventh man lay unconscious on the ground. Dogs were running around, barking or yelping as they were caught in the crossfire of spells. Three of the men were fighting against another man in the group. But the activities of the other two men were what concerned him the most. The fifth man was screaming _Crucio _over and over again, point his wand at a helpless bundle of checkered gingham on the ground. The final man was kicking this bundle over and over again. It was only when Albus heard the bundle scream, and saw a flash of red on shoes of the man kicking that he realized it was indeed his beloved Minerva.

Without a moment of planning or forethought, Albus ripped through the tree cover and loosed his first spell on the _Crucio _caster. Instantly, the man was on his back, howling in pain. The quartet of men fighting all turned and began firing spells at Albus. Suddenly, his injury and the miles he had just covered caught up with him. It was all he could do to keep these men at bay. He was beginning to deeply regret his bold, brazen charge. When a rusty black lorrie pulled up the drive. It stopped almost immediately into the clearly, and out poured four more men from the Klan meeting. They looked a bit confused, but Albus knew that his chances of making it out of this fight were rapidly dropping.

"She tried to get away, and then this joker showed up and knocked out Landon!"

Albus knew he was done for.

/*\/*\/*\

Lyle knew they would just barely make it. Reaks was reviewing the meeting's transcripts while Alastor and another agent traced the tracker Albus had pursued. He kept telling himself they would be set to go in a few minutes. Even the agents that had been knocked out during the earlier battle had had time to right themselves by now, though. Their force was significantly reduced, just ten fighters. But those who departed for a Healer's care promised to send for reinforcements. Reaks had laughed at that.

"They're never going to believe you." He'd chuckled in a dark tone.

It felt like hours they had been standing there, though it was probably only twenty minutes. Still, Lyle was not very good at waiting. Finally, Reaks spoke up.

"How's that trace going?" He barked.

"The vehicle is maintaining its location at these coordinates." The agent turned his notepad over to the agent in charge.

"All right. This is not going to be an easy fight. These men are clearly trained fighters, and Dumbledore has probably made their location right now. We might be jumping into the middle of pitched battle. Have your wands at the ready, keep your defenses up. Get the coordinates, and we'll apparate on my mark." Reaks boomed.

Lyle's blood was churning. This was the moment he had dreamed of his whole life. He was finally going into combat with the KKK. He would be able to confront his long-chased quarry for the first time. Alastor had a satisfied, relieved look on his face. Clearly, he was more than ready to fight again. With the coordinates memorized, the group circled up, and made the jump.

Instantly, Lyle could tell they had landed right in the middle of it, and per Reak's estimate, there was a battle. A spell sailed past his ear. By his count, there were still eight men fighting against a fallen Dumbledore, and a bloodied, wandless McGonagall. But that was all the thought he had time for. He heard shocked shouts as the attackers realized the new situation.

He caught sight of his first target, and raised his wand. Before his mouth could form words, or his mind an intent, he heard the last words his ears would ever catch.

_Avada Kedavra!_


	11. Back, but not the same

Alastor was not sure which depressed him more: the funeral for the promising young wizard, or the disheveled state of the great Albus Dumbledore.

The funeral was very subdued. A few dark-suited agents were present, all wearing sunglasses and avoiding any form of conversation. According to Director Bridger, Special Agent James Lyle was tragically killed in the line of duty during a route surveillance mission. No further details about his death, or his incredibly brave work uncovering a branch of the KKK were ever to be officially recorded. Only a few of the agents at the burial site knew the actual cause for Lyle's death, and they were under strict orders to say nothing. Those who did not know dared not ask. Thus, James Lyle's funeral was a particularly depressing affair. Without shared memories, with no rallying cry to avenge his tragic death, and in the absence of truthful commemoration of this Agent's accomplishments, Alastor felt an overwhelming anger and frustration. It was all he could do to keep his fury bottled up.

Besides, in less than half an hour, he and Albus would be taking a portkey back to the Ministry. He had his official report, waiting to be completed there. And while the Magical Bureau of Investigation may have denied Lyle his true hero's laurels, Alastor Moody, the Magical Law Enforcement Auror, would do his damnest to get an accurate record on the MLE books. It gave Alastor a small level of satisfaction to know that this great young investigator would not be entirely passed over.

Albus, on the other hand, would not be so quickly remedied.

True, Minerva McGonagall had returned to them. And while she was far from being completely healed, she was showing marked signs of progress in her treatment. She had been transferred to St. Mungo's less than a day after her rescue. She had recovered from the trauma of the multiple _Cruciatus _curses cast on her person; and the healers had deftly repaired the internal damage from the blows she received. While she had about a half-dozen gashes from the battle to rescue her, most of them were small and rapidly on the mend.

But the Minerva McGonagall, the respected and revered member of the Hogwart's staff, was no longer with them. During the raid on the KKK farm house, one of the MBI Special Agents had uncovered a bottle filled with silvery liquid. The Klan leader proudly spat his plan in their faces: Minerva McGonagall was one of the most powerful names in Transfiguration, and, briefly, an Auror. If disguised properly, she would be the ideal assassin. All that was required was a thorough (and alarmingly accurate) brainwashing. To make the hostage situation more tenable, instead of completely wiping her memory, the KKK had the consideration to forcibly remove copies of every single one of Minerva's memories. It had taken two days of painstaking work by a Klan member all the way from Atlanta who specialized in memory charms. By the end of the process, all of Minerva's memories about her personal life were stored in three mason jars, leaving only her most basic memories revolving around magical skill. The plan was to use the stored memories as leverage. Should they sense any threat of rescue attempts by magical authorities, the KKK would make a simple offer. Minerva McGonagall would be returned, intact, at the end of two months. However, if any rescue was attempted, the jars of memory would be destroyed, one by one, and, if all else failed, McGonagall was to be killed. It was only through Minerva's incredibly well-timed escape attempt that they were able to rescue her before the KKK could complete more than the initial stages of their plan.

The jars were found, undamaged. After careful examination, it was determined that Minerva's memories could be safely re-inserted. But while it was a standard procedure to remove or edit memories, there was only one documented procedure involving returning memories. It had only a moderate success rate, and the subject never completely recovered his all his memories. In addition, Minerva, or "Annabelle" as she insisted she be called, had to be put through certain rounds of questioning first. There was a very high chance that re-insertion of the memories would result in erasing all memory of the past few weeks. Thus, Magical Law Enforcement was given one week to learn as much as they could from "Annabelle". There was a high level of interest in the supposedly non-existent KKK, and the militant compound on which she was trained. The Americans, while assuring the Ministry that Minerva's captors had been apprehended and were in the proper correctional facilities, offered no information about any Klan members. The Ministry didn't even know what they looked like. Thus, though still severely weakened from her injuries, "Annabelle" was being thoroughly interviewed about the entire process. Alastor made sure he was part of this particular Auror team. They were to begin tomorrow. Alastor could only hope that the Ministry would be able to make progress against the KKK.

The funeral was dispersing, and Alastor followed after Albus down the hillside to the Muggle car the America Bureau of Magic insisted they used.

"Albus, how're you holding up?" Alastor prodded as they closed the car door. Normally, Alastor dodged emotional conversations with the same vigor he evaded an Unforgivable spell. But Albus seemed completely miserable, and clearly had not talked to anyone about his feelings. Anyone, except Alastor.

"I'm fine." Albus' voice sounded hollow, as if it were suspended over the gaping chasm of his anxiety.

"Ah, that's bollocks, Albus. You've got such huge circles under your eyes, it looks as though you were punched!" To emphasize his point, Albus turned to the only physical contact with which he was comfortable, the standard punch in the arm. "Now, tell me. What's really going on?" He sat back and tried quell his fear about Albus' response.

"Alastor, what if she never comes back?" His whisper was so thin, Alastor had to lean forward again.

"What on earth do you mean? She _is_ back! You carried her into St. Mungo's yourself!" There had been no small amount of murmuring over that particularly chivalrous display. At least one newspaper claimed they would "hear wedding bells" soon for the Headmaster and his Deputy. After a Ministry response had been issued, those stories no longer appeared.

"You know what I'm saying, Alastor." Albus rumbled. "I want Minerva back to the woman she was! Even she realizes that she's not the same person. She only responds to the name Annabelle." He cringed as he uttered the words.

"So, do you mean you're afraid you can't love her now?" Alastor was quickly realizing how far over his head this particular emotional conversation was becoming.

"No! I don't love 'Annabelle' at all! This woman is not Minerva." Albus had tears welling up in his eyes. Alastor looked away, but Dumbledore continued. "She has a different tone in her voice. Her eyes aren't as sharp as Minerva's. Every once in a while a similar mannerism or gesture will emerge, but it only serves to buoy my useless hopes!" Alastor cringed as Albus' breath hitched in a sob, "I waited too long, Alastor. I waited to embrace the woman I loved, and now, I have lost her altogether." A moderately terrified Alastor offered Dumbledore a handkerchief, and became the uncomfortable shoulder upon which the Headmaster shed his tears.

"Albus, I've just thought of something." The crying stopped, and Alastor had to keep himself from audibly sighing with relief. "There's still a chance that this memory insertion will work. There's still a chance to get Minerva back. But before she comes back, you have a very unique opportunity. You can practice telling the woman you love that you love her!"

Albus sat up and quirked an eyebrow at Alastor. He did not look as though he understood.

"See, tell Annabelle how you felt about Minerva." Alastor continued. "That way, if you nothing else, you get to have this enormous burden off your chest. But if Minerva _does_ come back, then you'll already have practiced saying it to her face once, so the second time will have to be easier, right? And, if she keeps her old memories, that will save you the bother of having to tell Minerva at all!" Alastor was very pleased with himself, indeed.

/*\/*\/*\

Albus was on the receiving end of a look in which he had once delighted. But under Annabelle's piloting, Minerva McGonagall's patented arched eyebrow did not carry quite the same weight. Still, Albus knew that his revelation required explanation.

"So, you loved me… before all this happened?" Annabelle (though he hated using that name) asked. The fifth day of MLE interviews had just wrapped up, and the raven-haired beauty was reclining in her bed. It had been a long day, and this particular tartan-robed patient still tired very easily. However, due to the sensitive nature of her interview and her previous captivity, Professor McGonagall was given a private room, so she was afforded ample peace and comfort.

"Yes, I was very much in love with Minerva." Albus sighed from his chair next to the bed. He had kept a large purple handkerchief handy through the entire story, and was still dabbing his eyes.

"And you're certain you don't love me now?" Annabelle playfully teased in a way Minerva would never have possibly flirted. This led to a renewed fountain of tears from Albus. "Oh, now don't cry, Albus!" The way she said his name still held the alluring Scottish lilt. More tears ensued. "Oh, goodness! Now, if you loved me so much, why weren't you and I on the infamous holiday at the site of the kidnapping together?"

"I…I never told you how I felt!" Albus was able to control himself to the point of a few soft sniffles.

"Oh." And here, Annabelle froze. "Oh, Headmaster, I had no idea…obviously." She added, gently. "I… so… you're telling me...if the procedure in two days is successful, you'll get the love of your life back?"

Albus nodded.

"I see. And what will you do then? What if I keep my memories of today?" Annabelle challenged him. Her questioning tone was very similar to the one Minerva had used so often on students.

"Then, I will own up to my confession and court you properly, Min… Annabelle," He quickly covered his mistake.

"How fairy-tale!" She glibly returned, "But more importantly, if I remember none of this conversation, will you confess your love to me again?" Her question was met with silence. "Are you joking, Dumbledore?" Annabelle howled. "You traveled half way round the world to rescue me, and yet you can't even get up the bollocks to ask me out to dinner?! You fool!" She flopped back against the pillows.

"No!" Albus jumped in, "No, of course I'll tell her… I mean, you…" He looked down at his hands.

"Albus, this has been a very trying point in my life. If I remember any of these events, I will need someone to help me deal with them. Even if I don't remember the past three weeks, I will still have a lot to cope with. And, Merlin forbid, if I remember nothing at all, then I will need a patient, understanding partner who's prepared to help rebuild my life, day by day." Annabelle sighed, worry showing through her features for the first time. "Promise me that no matter what happens, you'll tell me that you love me again."

"Again, and again, every day, if necessary!" Albus promised, taking Annabelle's hands in his. There was nothing for it but to wait and see.


	12. Again, and Again

After the memory-restoring procedure, Minerva McGonagall was declared to be out of any physical danger. To ease the healing process, and keep her in a familiar environment while she coped with the influx of memories, St. Mungo's transferred her to the care of Matron Poppy Pomfrey at Hogwarts. Poppy had visited her friend in St. Mungo's on a daily basis. "Annabelle" had no memories of Poppy, but she continued to provide her comfort and reassurance to the bewildered woman in isolation.

Now that Minerva's memories were, theoretically, back in place, and she was back at Hogwarts, Poppy's felt more and more confident in Minerva's full recovery. As yet, the patient had not woken from the potion-induced sleep from her memory procedure. The stern professor remained in a slumber so deep, it gave her an air of extreme vulnerability. Despite the fact that it was summer, and not a single student was in the school, Poppy kept a curtain up around Minerva, as if to protect her in this unguarded state. And the Headmaster stood unwavering watchdog over her sleep.

Albus refused to leave her side. Poppy found it a bit odd, to be sure. Of course, Dumbledore had exhibited an unusual guilt over the entire kidnapping. Poppy knew that Albus and Minerva were only friends. However, as one of Minerva's closest friends and confidants, she knew there was the potential for more. The Scottish schoolmarm professed to merely "admire his academic achievements and magical prowess". Poppy knew this was far from the full story. Minerva lit up every time Albus came into a room. There was more than admiration and respect in her voice, there was pining. At nearly every meal, Poppy would catch Minerva mooning over Albus (in her own, reserved way; and more than once, she swore she had seen Albus wistfully brush hands with her. While Poppy would have loved to play match-maker, she knew Minerva was a private soul. Professor McGonagall would do things in her own time or not at all.

And so it was Poppy found herself approaching the curtains around Minerva's bed, only to hear the following monologue:

"Minerva, please, come back to me." The whisper, though soft, as clearly Dumbledore's, "I cannot bear the thought of going another day without you at my side. Every moment without your stern glance, your crisp green eyes, and your musical lilt tears me in half. Only a fool would have waited this long to tell you, so I must be the greatest fool of all. But, my dear, if you come back, I will tell you every day, every night how much I care for you. Just please, please return to me."

Poppy quietly returned to her office. When she came back to check on her patient an hour later, she found the Headmaster in his customary place seated next to the bed, his head resting on the sheets. Minerva's hand lay over his cheek. Poppy had to wipe tears from her eyes as she performed the routine diagnostics.

/*\/*\/*\

Albus stirred as the hand that had been limp on his face began to twitch. Instantly, he sat up and caught the moving hand in his own. Minerva's head was moving ever-so-slightly now. Albus stood and called for Poppy. When he turned around, Minerva's eyes were staring back at him. At first, they seemed lost and confused.

"Where?" She tried to speak, but her voice was raspy and dry. Albus nearly fell over himself trying to conjure a glass, when Poppy sailed in with a cup already full of water. She helped Minerva sit up, and handed her the cup.

"You're back at Hogwarts, dear." She informed while running through her usual check list of spells. "And you are still physically in order. Now, what's my name?"

Minerva took a long moment to think. Albus couldn't tell if she was puzzled by the question, or genuinely could not remember the matron's name, "Poppy? Why are you asking me questions like that? Am I all right? What happened?"

Poppy put a hand on her shoulder to calm her, "Steady there. You're fine. Do you remember your name?"

"Minerva Deirdre McGonagall. I was born February 24th, 19… well, you know how old I am…" She trailed off as she eyed Albus. She was definitely back to her old self.

Poppy had one final question, "What is the last thing you remember?"

"I was on holiday, and Filius was about to visit. I sent him an owl, and…" She paled, "Oh. Oh, my…" And with that, she sank back into the pillows. Albus and Poppy both reached for her. "No! Please, don't touch me… I need to be alone…" With that, the woman rolled onto her side, away from the outstretched hands of her friends. Albus turned to Poppy for guidance.

"All right, but I'll be just in my office if you need anything." Albus followed the healer out of the curtains.

He tried his best to keep himself occupied. Minerva made it very clear that she did not want to be disturbed. He started writing a letter to a dignitary, but was forced to start over three times, after his letter ran off into nonsensical meanderings. Finally, he gave it up. Lesson plans proved just as pointless. He nearly had the first years scheduled to take NEWT level courses, before the knock on the door broke his concentration.

"Enter," Albus burst, glad for the distraction. He had to keep himself from running over to the door like an over-excited dog.

Poppy emerged, her face bearing a mixture of relief and apprehension. "Minerva would like to see you." She announced. Albus dashed after her, resisting the urge to pepper her with questions. It would not do to seem too eager.

Slowly, he glided over to the curtain around Minerva's bed, and stepped through. Minerva lay back, staring up at the ceiling, she did not turn when he entered. Albus immediately noted the raw, swollen red state of her normally pale, austere eyes.

"So many terrible things, Albus." She whispered. "All the things they taught me, what they wanted me to do. I cannot think of a single moment without feeling immense shame."

"Minerva, you didn't let them. When we found you, you were trying to run away." He reached for her arm, and then remembered her earlier outburst. He contented himself with sitting back in the chair. "You rejected their doctrine and were trying to flee."

"The things they taught me, Albus." Minerva interrupted, "I should have known, right away. I should have fled much sooner… All those weeks…"

This time, Albus did reach for her hand, "What you did was enough. You are safe now. No one else could have done more."

"A man died because of me, Albus. A promising young fighter, from what I've learned." She drew a shaky breath, "Died, because I didn't see those monsters for what they were."

"Minerva, you cannot blame yourself. You were kidnapped, transformed into someone other than yourself, and forced to their will." Albus squeezed her limp hand, "There is no shame in what happened."

"And you," Minerva snapped her head over to look at him now, and Albus laid her hand back down on the bed. He could not bring himself to pull his hand away. "You came to my rescue." She had a confused look in her eyes, but the rest of her face was blank.

"I… It…It was my duty to see the safety of my Deputy." He carefully responded.

"Oh, Albus, don't lie to me." Her voice had dropped in volume again, and tears were forming at the corners of her eyes. "I remember everything you told me. And I know exactly how you feel… rather… how you felt."

It was Albus' turn to wear the confused expression.

"Minerva…"

"No, Albus, I need to know one thing." She sat up now, turning to face him. She closed her eyes, as if somewhat dizzy, when she finally reached an upright position. She opened her eyes to continue, "Do you still love me? Even after everything that's happened, and all that I did, do you still love me?" Her eyes were diving into the depths of his soul.

Albus was speechless for a moment, "Minerva, I love you more than ever. I underestimated how precious you are to me. I will never do that again." He sat next to her on the bed, and wrapped his arms around her.

Minerva clung to Albus, and he heard her whisper, "Tell me again, Albus."

"I love you, Minerva McGonagall." He murmured over the top of her head.

"Never stop telling me." She pleaded.

They were married six months later.


End file.
